


30 Day OTP Writing Challenge

by magicianlogician12



Series: You, Me, and the Sea [7]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:54:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25291960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicianlogician12/pseuds/magicianlogician12
Summary: A collection (unfortunately unfinished) of very short ficlet prompts I wrote for Miri and Jaina as part of a 30-day OTP challenge. I might possibly revisit it one day to finish it.
Relationships: Jaina Proudmoore/Original Female Character(s)
Series: You, Me, and the Sea [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1832245
Kudos: 5





	1. Nose kiss(es)

Miri had never considered herself much of a morning person, if she was being completely honest.

Oh, she rose before the sun reached its zenith, sure, but early mornings? Dawnbreak, sunrise, however you wanted to call it? She hadn’t seen many in her time sailing on the _Tide,_ but the Alliance and their strict schedules made certain she saw a great deal more, these days.

In her usual fashion, she’d done her best to put a positive face on it for the sake of her people, because watching her stumble into her ship’s galley just before noon with disheveled hair, bleary eyes, and a mug of tea in her hand wasn’t the impression she wanted them to have of her.

While her audience may have changed since those days, the reasoning behind the act did not.

In Proudmoore Keep, face shoved into her pillow, Miri blinked her eyes open to see weak, steely gray light filtering in through the windows, heralding dawn’s approach if it hadn’t already happened. A low rumble of thunder and the gentle patter of rain told her there was a storm underway, and it was just the sort of weather Miri would’ve liked to stay inside for, with a warm mug of her tea.

That was a luxury she could no longer afford, most days, and the person sound asleep next to her _certainly_ couldn’t. More was the pity–Miri didn’t know of anyone else who deserved the break as much as Jaina.

With a resigned release of breath, Miri quietly extricated herself from her sheets, careful not to disturb Jaina just yet when there were still things she needed to prepare for the morning’s arrival. One of them sat on the table before the fireplace, left there the night before: a press for making coffee. It wasn’t a drink Miri enjoyed much herself, but she had to admit the strong, rich scent of it was divine.

Coffee was made and Miri set the mug on the table, a single tendril of steam wafting from it. A groan from the bedside made Miri turn her head, but a smile lifted one corner of her lips as she saw Jaina push the heavy quilts aside, not rising out of them just yet. Picking up the mug from where she’d set it, Miri brought it to the bedside table on Jaina’s side and met Jaina’s bleary, tired gaze with her own.

With one hand resting lightly under Jaina’s chin, Miri deposited a quick kiss on the bridge of Jaina’s nose, leaning back with a grin. “Morning, Proudmoore. Rise and shine, and all that.”

Jaina’s huff of laughter was a reassuring one, and she leaned over to pick up the mug of coffee. “It doesn’t look as though it’ll be a particularly shining day today.”

Miri hadn’t yet put on her eyepatch for the day, and she used the fact to her full advantage as she winked and said, “Every day’s a shining day when you’re in it.”

That one got a brief eyeroll and an obvious smile out of her even as the back of her neck flushed faintly pink, and really, that had been the whole point. “I don’t know if your lines have gotten worse since we started this relationship, or if I’m simply immune to them now.”

Miri’s grin verged towards a smirk. “Not _that_ immune, clearly.”

Taking a long drink of the fresh coffee, Jaina set it aside and moved with greater purpose, pushing herself up and resting one hand on Miri’s cheek, placing a kiss on the opposite one.

“Good morning, Ismirah.”


	2. Reunion hug

There’s something about watching the _Silent Tide_ arrive in Boralus that reminds Jaina of younger, simpler years.

For years she had watched her father return from sea, with a new story to tell her each time, but as she’d grown older and her responsibilities expanded, she had lost that girlish sense of adventure.

She supposes that tragedy had, in many ways, intervened as well–reminded her that adventure was frequently a double-edged blade, and would cut _towards_ more often than _away_.

Her return to Kul Tiras has returned Jaina to her roots in more ways than she had ever expected it to, and this, she supposes, is one of them.

From the docks at the Tradewinds Market, Jaina can see the _Tide’_ s mast, in its distinctive shade of faded lavender unique to kaldorei ships, lightened further with age. Even at this distance, she can hear Miri calling out orders to her crew, and one of them quips something back that makes her familiar peal of laughter, bright and bursting, reach through the summer breeze to where Jaina walks, steadily passing through the market crowds.

It hadn’t been a long trip, this time–just a brief scouting foray to the distant and scorching shores of Vol’dun–but with the captain spending more and more time in the Alliance’s headquarters here in Boralus, Jaina had to admit that she was becoming a regular fixture whose absence was keenly felt.

At the _Tide’_ s dock, Jaina doesn’t have to wait long to be noticed. Elanarel, the blood elf on Miri’s crew, gets a flash of recognition in her eyes and yells “ _Captain!”_ up to mid-mast, where the captain herself appears to be fixing a knot on some netting with her troll crewmate, Tzu.

Both of them turn their heads, and Miri says something to Tzu, who nods as Miri picks up a spare length of rope in her gloved hands, using it to slide back down the mast to the deck itself, a satisfied sway in her walk. She’s certainly dressed for the summer weather, having abandoned her long, oiled leather cloak for a simple vest, and her skin looks a touch pinker than when she’d left.

As always, though, she opens her arms wide, and Jaina steps into them easily, taking in the familiar smell of sun-warmed leather, sea salt, and the equal amounts of trouble and adventure that the captain seems to attract without even trying, tightening her arms.

“I hope you didn’t miss me _too_ much while I was gone, Proudmoore.” Miri teases, her chin resting atop Jaina’s head.

Jaina huffs but doesn’t let go just yet. Ismirah Shadeweaver is not exactly young, nor simple, yet she evokes those same feelings whenever she returns from her sojourns across the sea, and Jaina is loath to give up the reminder of that feeling right away.

“Did anything interesting happen this time?” she asks instead.

“Aside from watching Tix nearly destroy our netting–which was what Tzu and I were trying to fix–with her latest fish-catching contraption? No, not really.” Miri leans back this time and takes in Jaina’s appearance with a critical eye–the dark circles of fatigue she knows must be deeper now, the tired, drawn lines of her face–and instead drapes an arm over Jaina’s shoulders as she begins to walk. “But perhaps I’ll steal you away from the keep for an hour or so and tell you about it anyway, hmm?”

Jaina lets her arm rest across Miri’s opposite hip, matching her pace. “I think I would like that.”


	3. Spooning for warmth

Miri has always known the bottom of the sea is freezing, after having fallen into it and scavenged along its surface several times, but it’s surreal to feel that same chill on solid land.

It’s not the least disconcerting thing about Nazjatar, to say the least, but it’s easier to worry about the littler things. Being ensnared by an ancient naga queen with the sea threatening to crush them at any moment, held at bay only with the power of an even more ancient titan artifact, that’s just a little above the threshold Miri knows she’s capable of solving, and if she can’t solve it, there’s little sense in her worrying about it.

It leaves her time, fortunately, to worry more about the things that _are_ in her control.

In Mezzamere, the ankoan who’ve taken them in seem unbothered by the cold, but that’s unsurprising for a people who live most of their lives in or around water. Alliance survivors from the fleet’s fall huddle around campfires for warmth as the sun approaches the horizon, having already dipped below the cliff-like surface of the watery walls holding them hostage. Some of the Alliance are taking shelter in the stone buildings, but Miri doubts they’ll find much reprieve there–the stone holds more cold than almost anything else.

For the most part, the Alliance’s highest-ranking survivors have taken temporary lodging in a crumbling building set just slightly off from the main camp, but only one person remains within, the others having made use of the portal nearby to bring reports to the relevant authorities. Miri’s lip twitches up into a grin as she pokes her head around the doorway, where flickering candlelight illuminates Jaina’s tired scowl, looking over a hand-drawn map of the areas of Nazjatar the Alliance has discovered.

“You look like the cat who’s got the spoiled cream.” Miri leans against the makeshift desk with her arms folded.

Despite herself, Jaina’s scowl breaks as a huff of laughter escapes her, and she leans back from the map, rolling it up. “I was just updating our map with a few scouting reports the ankoan have provided. Tedious work, but necessary.”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I think it’s a good time for a break. Probably for the rest of the night.” Miri looks out at where the sun has vanished from view, and the temperature noticeably dipped. “They know where to find us if something happens.”

It was a measure of Jaina’s exhaustion that she didn’t attempt to convince Miri otherwise even once, and after setting the rolled-up map safely among the rest of her belongings, she came to the wide cot Miri had claimed, too short for her lanky frame with her feet hanging off the end. It should have been too small for more than one person, but Miri had a feeling they could handle it.

With quick hands, Miri pulled Jaina’s braid loose and combed through the locks with her fingers, straightening them out as much as possible before looping her arms around Jaina’s ribs, still covered by heavy layers of clothing–a necessity with the lack of decent blankets. “You’re _cold_ , Proudmoore.”

“You’re warm.” Jaina admits, curling inwards a little further, which prompted Miri to follow suit. “I admit I wish we had one of your oiled leather coats at the moment.”

Eyes closed already, Miri tightens her grip, her grin widening, and says, “I’m sure we’ll survive.”


	4. Walking hand-in-hand

As Lord Admiral, Jaina does not often have time to waste on frivolous jaunts, but some days, she can dress it up as errands needing to be run.

She knows that, if she truly couldn’t leave, she had others who could accomplish those things for her, but there were times she stayed far too cooped up within the keep, and needed the change in environment.

Fortunately, provided she wasn’t on one of her many Alliance-sanctioned excursions, Miri was more than willing to provide her company to those outings. “And,” Miri had told her once, a wry twist to her lip, “if anyone complains about you being gone, you can always tell them I kidnapped you.”

“Miri,” Jaina had told her, “I don’t think that would help your reputation in the eyes of the Alliance much.”

Still, the point stood, and it found both Jaina and Miri walking the streets of Boralus in the middle of one afternoon, hands linked as they walked.

Both of them wore gloves, so Jaina couldn’t feel the swordsman’s calluses on Miri’s hands, but she knew where all of them were by now, worn in by centuries of roguish strikes. Through their gloves, though, Jaina can feel the strength of her grip, and calls it good enough for now. “Someday,” she says as they pass by a few sellers in the Tradewinds Market, “I should take you to Dalaran. It’s…a very different experience walking through those streets. Though I’m not certain how welcomed I would be.”

“I’ve been to Dalaran.”

If nothing else, it was a swift redirection of Jaina’s thoughts from more melancholy times to the stories of today, as she turned her head to find Miri watching her with a lopsided smirk. “ _You’ve_ been to Dalaran?”

“Lived there for a while, actually, during the last Legion invasion.” Miri twisted her fingers in Jaina’s grip, and she let go while Miri reached for her coinpurse to pay for a few bolts of tidespray linen before taking them back again. “Myself and my crew joined a sort of….splinter organization dedicated to rooting out Legion threats in the shadows.”

Jaina wonders sometimes, in all her lifetime, whether she will discover all the former pirate captain’s secrets, but this one, she admits, is a genuine shock. Disengaging from Miri’s hand, she pays for a few bunches of star moss and waits until they’re out of earshot before continuing, “I had no idea you were such a noble pirate back in those days.”

Miri accepts Jaina’s light teasing with a snort and a roll of her whole head, in lieu of her eyes. “I wasn’t, not yet, but I _was_ one of the idiots who lived on this world that the Legion intended to destroy. Imminent apocalypse has a way of motivating you to do something about it.”

“If you were part of that organization once, why aren’t you still?”

“Gave it up when I joined the Alliance.” Miri squeezed Jaina’s hand, whether unconsciously or otherwise. “I couldn’t really claim an unbiased stance at that point. It served its purpose, and I served my purpose with them. It also got me my initial foothold into the Alliance itself, believe it or not.”

Skepticism all but radiates from Jaina as she asks, “And how might that have come to pass?”

“It’s quite a story, Proudmoore. Hopefully I can tell it before we get back to the keep.” Miri lets go of Jaina’s hand and offers an arm, instead, as is custom before they begin their walk back to the keep. “It began with a Legion dreadlord impersonating Mathias Shaw…”


	5. Late night talks

“You’ve never said much about your family.”

A single statement, and Miri’s heart drops into her feet from where she lays with Jaina sprawled across her back, late one night in Proudmoore Keep. They’d both gotten home later than normal–Jaina from visiting her eldest brother, Miri from breaking up a fight between Malianne and El, which was never pretty–and the hour was closer to early than late, which, she supposed, was usually the time she found the most courage to say things she might not ordinarily say in the light of day.

She hadn’t thought Jaina to be one of those people as well, but she supposed no one was immune to the charm of voicing hidden thoughts in the safety of the hours after midnight.

As usual, Miri attempts deflection. “You’ve met my crew already, Proudmoore.”

But it’s not the question Jaina asked, and Miri knows it. The silence sits heavy between them for a moment before Jaina pushes herself up, and Miri reluctantly turns over, squinting in the darkness until she can make out the vague details of Jaina’s face. Her brow is drawn together with pensiveness, or concern, Miri isn’t sure which is worse.

Finally, she sighs. “There’s not much to tell, really. We aren’t exactly on speaking terms. Haven’t been for the past thousand years or so.”

“You’re not in danger from them, are you?”

“‘Danger’ is the wrong word.” Miri picks her words with uncharacteristically surgical precision, and she knows it’s obvious in her tone–the line between Jaina’s brow deepens. “They never hurt me–not like you’re probably thinking. We just had different ideas about what I was meant to accomplish in my life.”

“I’m assuming ‘notorious pirate captain’ wasn’t very high on their list?” the hint of teasing takes the worst of that millennia-old melancholy from Miri’s chest, but a shadow of it remains.

“It was not.” she says dryly. “They know I’ve rejoined the Alliance, and haven’t bothered to reach out–which I’m fine with. I’m not looking for a reunion.”

“Do you have any siblings?” Jaina asks, then adds almost immediately, “If you don’t want to talk about it–”

“I have a sister.” Miri closes her eyes to think. “Linnara. Born after I left Ashenvale for good, so it’s not like I know anything about her, just that she exists–which I only know because she’s turned herself into a sentinel of some renown. Second time’s the charm, I suppose.”

Quiet sits again, long enough that Miri suspects Jaina’s fallen asleep mid-conversation again, before she suddenly speaks. “I’m sorry they’ve put you in that position.”

“Don’t be.” the blockage turning her voice hoarse is from thirst, Miri convinces herself, and not from the burn in her eyes that says those old wounds she thought she’d buried are more raw than she thought. “My crew is the only family I need.” Miri pauses, then grins. “And you.”


	6. Getting caught making out

If there was one thing that annoyed Miri about the Alliance more than any other, it was their strict emphasis on routine. To some extent, she got it–especially in wartime–but it certainly didn’t mesh well with the spontaneity that characterized the rest of her life leading up to relatively recently.

There was something ironic about the fact that her routine had gotten _more_ inconvenient since Jaina had been appointed Lord Admiral, yet Miri found she complained about it much less.

Today, that routine brought Miri into the deepest halls of Proudmoore Keep, where Jaina kept her new office, holding a bundle of reports from Shaw’s agents about Horde supply lines, or something. Whatever it is, it’s not important enough for someone besides her to deliver it, and hopefully that means it isn’t bad news.

Miri nudges the door to Jaina’s office, sitting ajar, fully open, and can’t suppress a shiver as a sudden blast of cold air hits. “Damn, Proudmoore, who left the windows open?”

It was a bad joke, and Miri knew it–the windows were quite obviously closed, but they _were_ fogged with faint impressions of arcane ice, as the very frustrated occupant of said office stared at a map of the charted waters around Kul Tiras and Zandalar with the intensity of someone willing a fire to start.

“We lost another convoy of supplies to the remnant of the Zandalari’s patrol fleet while they were on their way to Fort Victory,” is the first thing Jaina says, frustration and anger just barely curbed in her tone, “and it’s becoming clear we don’t have the reinforcements to try sending those supplies again anytime soon.”

Miri drops the sheaf of SI:7 reports on an unoccupied corner of Jaina’s desk, and sets herself down on another unoccupied corner, on the same side as the desk’s owner. “Why don’t I take the _Tide_ and try? They can’t sink what they can’t see.”

Jaina was already shaking her head, a deep line of annoyance between her brows. “We can’t send a single ship–not even you.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve dodged blockades, you know–and they’re not exactly at the same strength they were before.”

Tracing one fingertip across the map, Jaina’s irritation turns slowly to thoughtfulness. “We don’t have definitive patrol routes anymore–I don’t know how much information I could give you before departing.”

“Whatever you can get would be great, but we can make do without.” Miri shrugged. “We’ve always been best at working on the fly.”

Jaina’s sigh is anything but reassured, but some of the tension leaves her shoulders, and Miri calls it a win. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

Miri leans back, a mock-affronted hand on her chest. “Why, Proudmoore, I can’t believe you’d imply I might _not_ be careful.”

She looks away too quickly for Miri to see it, rolling maps up and setting inkwells to the side, but she knows Jaina’s smiling as some of the chill in the air lifts, and Miri gets up from her perch on Jaina’s desk to set the fire again, which she assumes went out after Jaina’s frustration peaked sometime earlier this evening.

In short order, the fire in the grate roars comfortingly, and it isn’t long after, Miri having pulled up a nearby chair to warm her hands, that Jaina comes to join her, standing with one hand on the chair’s back. “I apologize for turning my office into a winterscape.”

Miri shrugs, stretching her fingers before the protection of the grate. “You got frustrated. It happens. Here–give me those hands, they’ve been in those gloves all day, and I’m sure the metal in them isn’t helping your fingers warm up.”

The heavy glove comes off first, and Miri drops it unceremoniously on the other side of her chair, where it lands with a heavy _thunk_. Before she can reach for the second, however, Jaina’s now gloveless hand rests on Miri’s cheek, and turns her face to receive a firm, deep kiss, and not to sound like a romantic or anything, but it was the kind that could make your head spin.

Or maybe that was just her.

“I have other things to look over.” Jaina says with no small amount of reluctance.

Miri decides to give that reluctance a nudge of encouragement. “You don’t want to look over anything else right now.”

“No, I don’t.” she admits, and, eyes darkening, holds Miri’s face in both hands while her kiss turns deeper and longer.

Miri’s hand sinks into Jaina’s well-kept braid and dislodges enough strands to form a gossamer white-gold curtain of hair, almost glowing from the fire nearby, and Jaina may have gotten the upper hand by the element of surprise but Miri is not the type to surrender easily, so she gives as good as she gets, breaking off only to turn and deposit a swift nip to the skin just under the corner of Jaina’s jaw, and she gasps in response.

Situational awareness is one of Miri’s best traits, most of the time, and ordinarily she would’ve heard the indistinct sounds of conversation in the hallway outside with plenty of time to spare, but a slight twitch of her ear is the only warning she gets before the door to Jaina’s office is pushed open, revealing Tempeste and Shaw.

“Ever heard of _knocking_ , you two?” is the first thing Miri can think to say, but she doesn’t know how seriously it comes across with her short violet hair tousled and messy.

Tempeste snorts and Shaw looks like he would rather be anywhere else but here. “I’ll have you know that you _forgot_ one of the reports I intended to send with you on the high commander’s table, where anyone could have seen it. I thought it somewhat prudent to bring it myself this time, which is clearly what I should have done the _first_ time.”

“But, since you’re… _busy_ ,” Tempeste tries and fails to suppress a snicker, “we’ll just leave it on the desk, yeah?”

“Please, Ramsey, try not to encourage her.” Shaw sets the last folded piece of parchment on top of the pile Miri had brought with her earlier.

“Thank you, Shaw.” Jaina says, having recovered most of her composure. “I’ll have a reprisal prepared by morning.”

Then they’re gone, and Miri sighs, because she knows even she can’t redirect Jaina’s attention twice in such a short span of time. “Remind me to complain about Shaw’s awful timing at the next mission brief.”

“For your own sake, I think I won’t, but I take your point.” Jaina doesn’t fix her braid quite yet, but does brush the loose strands behind one ear. “I have other things to look over,” she says again, this time with greater conviction.

“Yeah, you do.” Miri gets up and runs her fingers through her hair, fixing it enough she probably won’t be questioned about its disheveled state on her way back to the _Tide_. Probably. “But we’ll finish this later.”


End file.
